As Good As Dead
by Laurelindorenae
Summary: Something or Someone has hated Will for the longest time. And now they've lashed out against him and Elizabeth. To Elizabeth, he is AS GOOD AS DEAD. The thing is, all this comes in the form of dreams to a Miss. Elisabeth Elise Turner. full inside
1. Just a Dream And Breaking And Entering

**Disclaimer **: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean, but any new characters are mine.

**Author's Note**: I hope you all like this one. I came up with the idea, and just HAD to write it.

**Chapter One**

**Just A Dream..And Breaking And Entering**

**Summary: **

**Something or Someone has hated Will for the longest time. And now they've lashed out against him and Elizabeth. To Elizabeth, he is AS GOOD AS DEAD. The thing is, all this comes in the form of dreams to a Miss. Elisabeth Elise Turner, born and raised in Jamaica. The year is 2005, and she has bound to this-- only she can right this acient wrong...**

_2005_

Elisabeth Elise Turner, daughter of Joan and David Turner sat up with a start. Her honey coloured locks spilling over her tank top covered chest in the hot summer night air. Her room was only lit with a 25 watt bulb lamp; she had forgotten to turn it off the night before when she had fallen asleep. Well, she had fallen asleep reading the journal of her great great great great grandmother, her name had been Elizabeth, so her father had named her for her, but had spelt it with the s, the way he prefered it. But this was besides the point. Lis had woken up from a dream, one of many in the same series that she had dreamed all her life. Every day of her 21 years.

Her dark amber eyes search the semi darkness, looking for anything that would tell her she was still at home. She was the kind of a girl that when she woke up in hurry she was confused, dizzy, and never knew just where she was. Oh well, it happened to many people. She got up from the bed, walking to her open window. She looked over at the familiar sight. She had lived here all her life, here in Jamaica. She was English by blood, but she had always lived her. She saw the ocean and it calmed her as she pushed her long, slightly sweaty, honey curls back from her face. She thought of her dreams. Its not like they were uncommon, but this one she had never seen before.

She dreamnt of an old, grey haired woman sitting at a study desk, the desk most likely belonging to her husband. She was dressed in just a white shift of heavy woven cotton. She was a frail being, her silvery hair falling to her mid back in waves. Her eyes were brown. Infront of her on the desk, and on the floor all around were thick leather bound volumes, and she riffled through the one before with utter most urgancy, as if something needed to be found, and found quickly.

_" I'll find a way"_

That was all the woman in her dreams had said, though from in the distance of the dream, Lis was sure she could hear children's voices, as if through the windows of this woman's house, shouting the most hurt filled things

_" Witch ! You should be hanged ! "_

She had wiped away her crystal tears with a wrinkled hand, her skin white and still ever soft. In her youth, she must of been beautiful. Even in her old age, she still held the glow of beauty, and glow of someone that is forever loved. Yet there was not a sign of her husband anywhere. Though Lis knew she was married, for the golden ring still sparkled on her age worn hand. But perhaps, she was a widow.

Elisabeth shook her head, ridding her mind of these thoughts. It was still dark out, the perfect time to sneak out of the house and take a bus the few miles to the rebuilt Port Royale.

Lis dressed quickly, putting on a black and white lace top, and hip-hugger black jeans. She bound her honey hair back and put on a leather news boy hat. She put on only a little make up and slipped out of house.

She loved Port Royale, and she didn't know why. Perhaps, she thought, was because it was where her great great great great grandmother, Elizabeth Swann, had lived. In any case, she always loved to see the house that Elizabeth had lived in, for it still, miraculously, stood after all these years. These two centuries and more.

1.

Lis sighed in content as she looked upon the house in the mid morning sun. It had taken her longer than she had thought it would to get to Port Royale. The main route this morning had been closed do to a vehicle accident, so the back way had to be taken. It had taken nearly two extra hours. Though, in Lis' mind it was well worth the wait. She shouldn't be doing this, and she knew it, well, she shouldn't even be here to begin with. Her parents had never approved of her fascination with her great great great great grandmother, but to Lis it was the romantic thought of Elizabeth as being the 18th Century ideal of the perfect young woman.

What it was that she did next, was surely illegal. The manor had been locked up when Port Royale was made into a tourist attraction- no, that was wrong. It had been locked up when her great great great great grandmother had died at the age of 80 in 1780. Lis walked up to the door and inspected the lock. She pulled out a lock pick from her purse -- you never know just when you may need it after all. After a few tideous moments of picking inside the lock, and hiding when tour guides and tours of course, passed by the house, she finally heard the lock give its precious little click. With all her strength, Lis pulled on the old wooden doors, that had not been opened in at least 230 years. With cautious steps, Elisabeth stepped into the main hall of the house. It was beautiful and unntouched. The stairs ascended to the second floor on the other side of the room, a table with a vase that held the dried remains of many beautiful flowers stood acrossed from her. This room ajoined to another, a sitting room. The furniture was in the 18th Century style, as was too be expected. It all looked so perfect, but it was all covered in a layer of thick, snow like dust.

This was the home of her great great great great grandmother, Elizabeth Swann. Looking around, Lis saw in her mind, the phantom of her ancestor that she felt so close to, bustling around the house in her youth, her full skirts swishing softly with the motion of her movement. Lis' mother had always told her that she should waist less of her time thinking about a time and an woman that was long gone, and was never coming back. That the blood bonding them was too weak now that even if Elizabeth Swann could see her now, she would not know who she was, nor would she care for that matter. But Lis never thought like that. She was sure that if she could see her, her grandmother- whether direct or not- would be proud of her. Lis' father, unlike her mother had always told her that though it was a strange fate, and that the blood connection was so weak, that she had somehow inherited her grandmother's - Miss. Swann's that is, beauty.

Lis just had to go upstairs.


	2. What Do You Think You Are Doing !

**Disclaimer **: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean, but any new characters are mine. I do not own the rights to the song used in this chapter, It belongs to Sarah Brightman ( I think)

**Author's Note**: Paragraphs in _italics_ are Elisabeth's dream sequences.

**Chapter Two**

**What Do You Think You Are Doing !**

Lis walked up the stairs, stairs that had not been walked upon in 230 years or so. She was wary that at any moment the old wood could give and she would fall, probably to her death, and no one would ever find her. And that thought did disturb her, if no other's did. She shook her head and she made up the stairs in one piece. They were just fine; in as good condition as the day that they were made. She walked the halls quietly, the only sounds that of her heeled sandals clicking on the hard wood floor boards, and the gentle twitter of the birds in the morning sunlight outside the mansion.

She had noticed when she had come into the great hall that something had once been standing in the middle of the floor, but it had been moved. The scratch markings in the wood's dark varnish were easy enough to see. It must of been heavy, whatever it was; a statue, perhaps. But Lis walked into the only open door. The door to a bed room. The door stood ajar, the light streaming in through the windows of the chamber. She pushed the door farther open, the old hinges needing to be oiled badly. She was met by the faint scent of roses. Lis looked around in awe. This room looked just like her own. The bed was in the middle of the wall, so if one turned their head to the left, one would see the short hallway , no more than 5 feet, and then the door out onto the landing. It was a canopy bed, like her own, but this one was made of ebony wood, not white painted steel. The curtains that fell around the bed and the top canopy itself was a thin white gossamery lace. Beside the bed, towards the door, there was an old wooden night stand, on it still stood an oil lamp that remained after this house was locked up. To the right of the bed were large french windows and even a balcany. Off in the corner of the room was a dressing curtain, made of mahogany. But Lis also noticed the same markings on the wooden floor, like something had been moved from here, and they looked a lot more recent. Still, Lis shrugged it off.

By 1:00 pm she was one her way back home. Her mother was going to kill her. And she knew it. Except when she came back into the house, she was not greeted by what she had expected. Truly, nothing would of ever made her expect this...

Joan Turner, Lis' mum stood in the garage, with a sledge hammer in her hands, the kind used for renovations. On her face was a sheer devil's look. Lis followed her gaze, it was to a statue. It was a young man, with tear of stone rolling down his perfect cheek. His marble eyes stared on blankly. He looked like the artist that had sculpted him had captured him in mid movement. He was perfect. That's when Joan raised the hammer,

" MUM STOP ! What do you think you are doing ?"

" Getting rid of this ugly piece of junk once and for all !"

" Mum! I didn't even know we owned a statue ! Stop ! Don't break it..."

She grabbed the long handle of the hammer, forcing her mother to stop her swing.

" Its been in the closet for as long as we've lived here -- 25 years ! Its incessantly in my way and I'm sick of it ! "

" Who's is it?"

" It belonged to some ancestor of your's and your father's.. Some woman I suppose."

Everything she had seen in Elizabeth Swann's mansion that day suddenly made perfect sense. The drag marks, the scuffing of the floors, the slight buckling of the floor where the statue had been one standing. This was the statue that it was reputed that the late Elizabeth Swann had had of her husband, William Turner. He had died a tragic death at sea, and she kept the statue as a memorial to him. It was sad really, she had loved him so dearly, and they had been just bearly married, not even by more than 3 months-- and she had been bearing his child.

" Mum ! Stop ! Its grandmother's !"

Joan rolled her eyes at her daughter.

" You still call her your grandmother, yet she's too far back to be ! She is NOT your grandmother !"

" I know that mum ! I know that, but I feel a certain bond with her, and I do not know why. Please, whatever you do, don't wreck the statue. Look, if you don't like it, I'll take it off your hands. Give it to me."

" Why do you even want this old hunk of marble ?"

" Because it makes me feel closer to them. I want to feel closer to them. Is that such a crime mother? Tell me, have you never wished you could of known one of your ancestors ?"

" Well of course I did, but I never OBSESSED over them !"

" I find her life fascinating, grief filled yes, but FASCINATING none the less ! Just...Just give the statue to me..."

Joan sighed and helped her carry the fairly heavy statue of her "Grandfather" up the stairs to her room.

1.

_1721_

_She walked to the statue in her room, she was still young yet, and the sorrow had happened only a few short weeks before. Her eyes were full of tears as she looked upon the marble face of her Dear William. She looked down at his stone hand, and slid her husband's spare wedding ring onto his naked finger. She let her tears fall as she touched his marble face. She couldn't live like this, she couldn't live without him, could she ? She drew a deep breath and sang with a bittersweet, wavering voice:_

_Somewhere in time I know,  
Darling you'll come back to me.  
Roses will bloom again,  
But Spring feels like eternity.  
In your kiss it wasn't goodbye.  
You are still the reason why._

I can hear you whispering in the silence of my room,  
My heart still surrenders like the sun to the moon.  
I can barely stand this aching, burning endlessly.  
"Love me now forever,"  
Were the last words you said to me.

And when the morning comes,  
My hands still reach out for you.  
Some things remain the same,  
There is nothing I can do.  
I can barely get through the day  
Ever since you went away.

I can hear you whispering in the silence of my room,  
My heart still surrenders like the sun to the moon.  
I can barely stand this aching, burning endlessly.  
"Love me now forever,"  
Were your last words to me ...

Heaven help us cross this endless sea  
With starlight above to guide you to me.  
Waves crashing on distant shores,  
They're calling our names forever more.

And I still hear you whispering in the silence of my room,  
My heart still surrenders like the sun to the moon.  
I can barely stand this aching, burning endlessly.  
"Love me now forever,"  
Were the last words you said to me.'

_She shook her head sadly, finishing the song. Oh how she wished that her beloved could still hear her, could return to her. But he couldn't, there was no way known..._

1.

2005

Again Lis woke up with a start. She had never had this dream either... She looked to the side of the bed, looking by the open window. The moonlight flooded in the open curtains, that floated on the warm breeze that entered her room. The statue stood just like it had before, beside the window. She looked at him and sighed softly, now knowing, or thought she knew the story behind the statue of the young Mr. Turner. Her late ancestor.


End file.
